


Muscle Memory

by crookedspoon



Series: Creating God to Survive [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Community: 31_days, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-02
Updated: 2008-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is the sound of Mukuro's voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dec 02, 2008 "make him tame so he can live in peace with the world" from 31_days.

In this world, absolution may be given to him whose hands are stained with blood if he begs and pleads and grovels enough.

It's not for them, though. They kill and kill again, for pleasure, business or the need to survive. Their hands are black already; no amount of scrubbing would restore the angelic white given at birth.

It's none of their concern. They have abandoned morals and conscience the day the world, their family, and hope abandoned them.

Ken still has nightmares about it. He doesn't admit it, says he can't remember, but Chikusa could hear him thrashing wherever they were - be it on missions, in prison, makeshift homes.

Ken calls him a fucking liar when he mentions it, delusional, wanting to piss him off. It's that easy to aggravate him.

Whenever he's like that, about to attack Chikusa, to rip out his throat, because he's wild, untameable, Chrome steps between them, voice soft and shaky, but gaze firm. She's not afraid of them, the killers in her midst; she trusts them, calls them friends even. She doesn't want them to fight; she is different from Mukuro in this, who only ever chuckled and left them to deal with their aggression on their own.

He has always been willing to inflict the same kind of pain he has been forced to endure. The pain that has twisted them, blurred the boundaries of reality for that which was acceptable.

When Ken rages, it's different for every beast inside; he'll smash whatever is in his path, assault people, leave a trail of destruction. It's hard to bear the shrieks and growls, the clang of thrashed metal or the thud of broken wood. Chikusa can't handle him when he's like this and neither can Chrome, for all she is Mukuro's voice, his container; in the end she's just a tool, just like them. Ken does not listen, because maybe he can't, not to their voices at least.

All it takes is the sound of Mukuro's voice, soft laughter from the other end of the room, a whisper in Ken's ear, a hand on his shoulders. Only Mukuro can bring him to heel, because Mukuro was their saviour and Ken instinctively knows he would not lay a hand on him, could not, would not survive a breach of trust.

This world was a maddening, unforgiving one. They could not live in peace here, not with the sins they have committed; they could forge their own peace, however, carve it out of the parts they destroyed. And maybe... maybe recreating the world in Mukuro's image can bring them calm, free them from the torturous muscle memory that chained them to experiences of the past.


End file.
